ashes and ice
by nightfall26
Summary: they are children but they are also murderers; she hears blood singing from the veins of the people she loves, while he lies awake waiting for those that want him dead. z x k.
1. nightmares

**_setting:_** _one year after the war has ended._

 ** _disclaimer:_** _I own nothing.  
_

 ** _author's notes:_** _'nobody looks like what they really are on the inside... people are much more complicated than that. it's true of everybody.' -n. gaiman_

* * *

She thanks the spirits for every morning that the sun kisses the edge of the ice.

Curled into the snow like a lover, the young Master Katara greets every sunrise by meditating on the edge of the world. She feels the call of the tides, pulling and pushing against her like an embrace; she feels the dampness of the snow and the lightness of the air and the moisture all around her and she _breathes._

There is a pulsing, heated anger that has never died in the cage of her chest; and the only way she can keep herself level enough to seem normal is by following the example of a friend that ran hotter than anyone else.

So she lets the palms of her hands rest face-up, towards the skies, tilts her head into the sunlight, and inhales until she cleanses herself of the nightmares from the night before. The warmth of the light on the apples of her cheeks are like the touch of an old ally.

Her brother knows to leave her to her ritualistic moments in the morning, knows that she rises earlier than anyone else to have these sparing minutes of peace to herself before she has to rise and greet the tribe.

He knows she can hear their blood singing in their veins so he does not question the dark bruises under her eyes or the hollowness of her cheeks.

But this morning, he struggles through the weight of the snow towards his sister, boots crunching, chest heaving, face red with exertion.

"Sokka." She calls his name before she sees him, her eyes lidded, jaw twitching slightly with concentration. Leaning forward to place his hands flat on his legs, he sucks in a long breath.

"You're needed down at the village, Katara. A letter came in just now that you need to see." He knows better than to touch her now so he stands inches away, brow furrowed, almost unable to recognize the wildness in her.

"It can wait, Sokka." Her voice is chafed raw; he can hear the tangle of her emotions.

"It's from Zuko," The Water Tribe boy lets his hood fall away from his face so he can stare, and when she opens her eyes, the blueness of their gazes lock.

"He's in trouble, Katara. He needs us." Sokka's voice was dark with foreboding, and she remains still for a long minute; her hands clenching into fists. He watches her suck in a long, tense breath through her teeth, carefully constructing a cool mask of resignation upon her features.

But she pushes herself to her feet anyways, reaching for her brother's hand to help her out of the snow.

"What happened?" She says, so quietly that the wind almost snatches the words away. Sokka tucks his arm around her shoulders; she lets him, curving into his furs and listening to the pounding of his heartbeat.

In this year, Sokka has aged far more than the rest of them, she thinks; he teases as he always has, but rarely, and he is more of a rock to her than ever.

"There's been an assassination attempt on his life." The older boy speaks just as softly, and as they wade through the snow together, her heart sinks into her stomach.

"Is he okay?" She almost doesn't want to know the answer.

"Iroh sent the letter. He says nobody on the staff can figure out who is orchestrating the assaults. Evidently the Fire Lord's asking for you."

"Me?" The syllable is hollowed with pain, and Sokka frowns down at his sister as they approach the village.

"Is it so hard to imagine Zuko asking for you? You're his best friend, 'Tara."

She swallows noisily against the rising bile in her throat.

"He hasn't written me in months, Sokka. Not since-"

"-not since Aang left. Well, yeah. The world's kind of been in chaos since then. He's probably kind of busy, sis."

The diamond-hard glare she gives him silences any kind of reparations he could offer; he settles for her arm looped through his and his jaw snaps shut, teeth clicking as his mouth stays decisively closed.

The Avatar was traveling the world searching for a hint that his beloved Air Nomads hadn't been completely exterminated. He had parted ways with the Southern Water Tribe soon after the end of the war, stopping to visit Toph and Zuko before vanishing off of the radar completely.

Zuko's private letters to the waterbender had come to a slow, eventual halt a few months later.

Since then, she had thrown herself into her work; training the young children that came to her seeking help with their bending, helping Sokka with his inventions, helping her father rebuild their struggling little home. It had not been easy to force herself into the chain of command; she had sparred every member of the council and won their respect after landing each of them on their asses in the snow.

But it had not gone unnoticed that she had withdrawn herself from her other friends, too. Her silence was worrisome to Suki, who was finishing training the newest batch of recruits on Kyoshi; Toph complained loudly and frequently by sending letter after letter of nearly unintelligible scribbles.

Sokka had noticed every time Katara fed another one of Toph's unopened letters to the angry fires she lit in her hearth, her lips pressed tightly together and her brow furrowed with a fury he didn't understand. He chose not to ask, at the time.

But now, her arm linked so tightly with his, he wonders.

When they return to the village, she cups the letter from Iroh in her hands so delicately, like a precious, fluttering bird; Sokka wonders at the tears that collect in her eyes and the ferocious way she orders for a ship. Her father knows better than to combat her will.

Sokka knows better than to ask.

They leave the following night, packed efficiently and lightly; they are, after all, experts on travel. The Water Tribe siblings speak very little the first night. Katara steams the sea prunes they packed and pours them over rice for her brother, he watches her; sleeves rolled up, hair tied back into a braid, her cheeks pinked from the warmth of the stove top and the determined set of her jaw.

 _Ah,_ he thinks, _this is who she used to be._

The second night, they spar together. She wields a slim blade that Zuko gifted to her at the end of the war, he is armed with the sword from Master Piandao. The metal sings as the blades clash; it begins as a playful thing, and then Sokka sees the edge in her eyes and remembers that the war never left his sister's heart. When she returns the Fire Nation blade to its hilt, he watches as her fingers hover over the red leather that Zuko had embossed with her name.

 _She's worried about him,_ he tells himself, _he's her best friend. And mine._

She drinks sake like a dirty sea dog, tipping the burning rice liquor down her throat with the same ease that her brother does. He stares for a moment; _is she really only sixteen_? He thinks, sometimes, that a much older woman is hiding in the shell of her bones.

As the week at sea passes, there is a lightness to her laugh when she bends on the deck of the ship, a glint to her smile that had been gone for some time. She will touch his hand, now. She holds on to his tanned, scarred fingers and he can feel the whispers of tears just beyond the hardness of her exterior. She will crack soon, he thinks.

She doesn't.

They day they arrive in the Fire Nation, Katara douses herself in the hottest water she can stand. She combs her hair and braids it away from her face, scrubs at her cheeks until they are raw and pink. She wears the traditional blue garb of her tribe, eyeing the heavy furs that she must leave in her pack with wistfulness; Sokka knows they bring her comfort.

She does not recognize herself in the light blue silk, her hands bare and scarred and her arms naked of armor. The girl grips anxiously at the water pouch she loops around her hips and watches as her brother tucks both of their weapons into his pack.

He must have seen her anxiousness in the way her hands shake; he smiles gently at her- _there is no need for weapons here, not any more._

"You look beautiful, 'Tara. Don't worry. We'll be there soon." Sokka slings his arm around her shoulders that are too hardened with muscle and strain to be curved with pain; but too small to be strong enough to carry her through the streets of the capitol of the Fire Nation alone.

She grips his hand as they walk down the gangplank.

To their surprise, they are greeted by a battalion of troops in shining red and gold armor. Katara's chest seizes with fear; she freezes, and it takes all of Sokka's energy to keep her tucked into his side. Her right hand has flicked open her water pouch, fingers curled and readied for an attack; the leader of the Fire Nation warriors removes their helmet and she nearly slumps to the ground in relief.

It is Zuko; alive, breathing, his very presence a mass of warmth that she welcomes like a frostbitten traveler. She flings herself towards him, her throat thick with apologies and eyes red with tears and Zuko does not know what to do at first besides pat her and eye her brother with quiet, surprised caution.

They both note that the tides are sloshing particularly violently against the docks.

Sokka shrugs and approaches the Fire Lord, bowing once, neatly at the waist. He has not seen her emote like this since the end of the war; he imagines it is relief that Zuko is still in one piece.

"You don't have to bow, Sokka. Don't be ridiculous." Zuko's rasping voice is familiar and warm as he manages a sideways grin at the elder Water Tribe sibling. Katara manages to remove herself from the Fire Lord long enough to allow her brother to grip the fire bender's hand in his, clapping his back firmly and nodding to him.

"Figured I should since we've got such an audience, Fire Lord," Sokka says sweetly, before whispering- " _Hotpants."_

The aside brings the young Fire Lord to a boiling laugh, and he grins crookedly at the pair.

"Can't be helped, guys. Someone out there is pretty adamant about my death, so I didn't want to risk you, too." Zuko's eyes slide to Katara, who is gripping her forearms and keeping her eyes rooted to the ground.

 _she can hear his blood. she can hear all of their blood. it is raging through the streets, a drum beat in her ear, a pulse in her chest. she could kill them all if she wanted to-_

"Ready, Katara?" Zuko is smiling at her- _spirits, his smile_ \- and holding his hand out for her and she can see the tiredness in his eyes and the thinness of his face, but she lets her fingers curl around his and lets herself ignore the screaming in her head for long enough to answer him with her own smile.

As they walk, feet in the dust; she feels the crunch of the dry earth beneath her feet and thinks of how he probably doesn't sleep any more. The people on either side of them wave to the girl, and a few call her name- _'Lady Katara! We can't thank you enough for saving our Fire Lord!'-_ and she conjures bright smiles from her youth _so long ago_ and returns the waves.

But her hand grips Zuko's so tightly her nails nearly draw blood.

If he notices, he doesn't say a word.

"How many attempts, Zuko?" She whispers to him, just quietly enough so that her brother can't hear as he traipses along behind them. She is on his scarred side, and the slanted look he gives her is answer enough. She squeezes his hand for a moment, holds it close to her chest, feels the warmth and lets herself mourn for her exhausted, wayward Fire Lord.

His kindness has not been enough to soothe the pain of four Nations.

"Seven in the last week." He murmurs.

"La, Zuko. You should have called for me earlier." Katara glances up at him, chastising, blue eyes narrowed to slits. Zuko shrugs.

"I didn't want to have to involve you, Katara. I wanted to spare you all -this-" He flutters his free hand uselessly, golden eyes baleful. She only echoes his shrug, her face clouding; there is a hardness in her eyes that was not there before.

"I would do anything for you, Zuko. You know that."

Her tone has taken on a seriousness that makes him squint at the girl with the ocean eyes- she is no longer looking at him- and he wonders what has happened to her.

When his gaze flicks to her brother, Sokka mouthes " _later"_ and Katara does not notice.

* * *

She retires to her suite of rooms to bathe the dust of traveling off; and Sokka walks the grounds with the Fire Lord. Zuko stays in full armor, a sheen of sweat on his forehead, hair swept into a high topknot and dark circles bruising his eyes.

"What happened to your sister, Sokka?" He mumbles, so straightforward that the water boy wonders if this is the same man he fought beside a year ago. Sokka crosses his arms tight across his chest and sighs so heavily that its as if his soul is expelling into the summer heat.

"She wasn't the same when we went home, Zuko. She was so _drained_ all the time. Yeah, she was cheerful around the kids she trained and she loved helping Dad out at council meetings, but after Aang left, there was this... I don't know, _darkness_ to her that wasn't there before." Sokka is solemn as he fidgets with a stray blade of grass in his hands.

"Katara has to wake up with the sun every morning to meditate and get herself straight before she faces the village. I had to learn to respect her rituals because she accidentally froze my blood once, which sucked, and after that, she wouldn't come out of her room for a week. When she did, she started going on about control and anger and started the meditating thing. She's been kind of a mess ever since." Shrugging inelegantly, Sokka scratches at his wolf tail and stares hard at the garden in front of them, avoiding the lightning-hot gaze of his friend beside him.

Zuko's golden-amber eyes are sad for a long moment, then.

"Those are my habits for controlling my bending. I rise every morning at dawn to meditate and calm myself for the day ahead. I guess she feels like she can't control herself." He says softly, and Sokka knows it already but hearing it is a different thing altogether; he deflates.

"My sister really cares about you, Zuko. She would do anything to protect you. But I don't think she totally made it out of the war."

Zuko knows this already, too; mostly because he still has nightmares that shake the ground and screams that tear from his lungs long into the night.

He doesn't sleep much. Not any more.

* * *

When Katara joins the pair of boys for dinner, she has dressed in red; Zuko pulls her chair out for her and Sokka does not miss that the Fire Lord seats the waterbender next to him.

He does miss the scattering of a blush that dances across the pale boy's high cheekbones and the way her hand grazes his sleeve unintentionally.

Zuko eyes the deep crimson of her gown and the way it compliments the tanned-caramel of her skin and the ice-blue of her eyes and tries _and fails_ not to stare at how the satin clings to her every curve and _when did she get so grown up, Agni-_

Zuko reaches for his wine goblet, then, and Katara reaches forward to still his hand. Their hands collide, and he frowns; she is as cold as ice.

She jerks her hand away as if she has been burned by him; her expression serene, her eyes tumultuous storms.

"I wouldn't drink that, if I were you." Her voice is eerily calm, and she bends a dark stream of liquid from the cup that she sends splashing harmlessly into the fireplace. Sokka pales.

"Thanks. The last time I was poisoned, I was in bed for a week." Zuko speaks casually, but his hand shakes when he reaches for his glass again.

 _he did not mention that he vomited blood for days and that the healers nearly couldn't save him and the fever almost burned him alive but she knows, she knows-_

Katara splays her fingers wide on the white tablecloth for a moment, eyes closed; she nods at Sokka.

"Yours is fine, Sokka. It's okay to drink it." There is a tired smile in her eyes. She does not eat much. Zuko notices; but much like her brother, he does not say a word.

The siblings part ways to their separate rooms; both in the same hall as the Fire Lord's royal suite, on opposite ends. Katara is a few doors down from Zuko, Sokka is closer to the winding staircase. He grips his sister in a hug that surprises her. Her arms are stiff and long by her sides, as if she has forgotten how to embrace.

"Please be careful tonight, sis. I don't know who is after Zuko, but they're probably after you, too, and I just couldn't-" He stops there, clearing his throat and jerkily removing himself from her.

"-just yell if you need anything, okay?" He says stiffly, before turning and moving away from her. Katara nods at his disappearing back.

"Thanks, Sokka. Love you, too." She whispers into the quiet black of the hall before letting her hand sink onto the latch of the door. It is a nice room; Zuko has draped blue silks across the bed and hung swaths of flowers from her windows. She touches the blooms with hands that have withered entire trees before, her eyes are wistful but she bites down hard on her lower lip until she can taste blood. The girl knows she brings death wherever she goes and she will not sleep tonight. She will not sleep until Zuko is safe.

So the girl settles into the bathtub, letting herself be surrounded by her element; there is a full moon tonight, and she knows she brings the wrath of the ocean with her wherever she goes.

It is a matter of hours before she hears his first scream.

She thinks she imagines it, at first, the scream just an echo from a memory; a dream, perhaps, but it comes again with increasing rawness and she launches herself from the bathtub and throws on her training robes.

She runs so quickly that she slips on the carpet twice; she flings the door open, ice knives bent from the moisture in her hair already in her grasp when she sees that the Fire Lord is tangled in sweat-soaked sheets, dead asleep.

He is caught in a nightmare, and she doesn't hesitate before she scrambles up beside him onto the absurdly large mattress and curls against him; her icy skin against the furious heat of his.

"No, Katara, no-" The words are chafing in his lungs as if he has swallowed glass, and she watches as his hands scrabble against the star-shaped scar on his chest and she _knows._

 _she feels the crackle of the air around them, smells the singed flesh and hears his scream biting through the space between them-_

The water-girl is afraid to touch him. She is afraid to freeze his blood like she did Sokka's; afraid to hurt him because she cares, she cares so much, _too much._

"Please don't leave me-" The words are quiet now, strangled, his back is arching and he is burning with suffering and he is rolling into a fetal position- _she knows this pain, she lives with it every day-_

"Zuko, wake up." She mutters fiercely, shaking him, and when he does not rouse but another scream rattles his chest she straddles his hips and grabs his face in both of her hands. _to hell with control. she will not hurt him because he is zuko and he is her best friend and La, she needs him-  
_

He is crying her name in his sleep and she could sob with the pain of it, but she doesn't, she just shakes him until his eyes open and he frowns, sleep clouding his expression.

"Katara? I was dreaming about you." Sleepy words from heavy lips, he pulls her down to him and suddenly she is surrounded by a warmth she thought she might never feel again. They lay crumpled on their sides, faces so close that they can feel each other's breath and legs tangled together.

"You were screaming, Zuko. I thought-" She chokes on the words, the thought that he could be harmed- he presses his lips tightly together and she knows he understands what she was trying to say.

"You have nightmares too, don't you?" The question is quiet and rasping and Katara wants to tear at the seams with the realness of it.

She nods, and his answering sigh is a fan of warm breath on her cheeks.

"I haven't slept in months." Zuko whispers.

"Me neither." Katara concedes, and he leans forward until their foreheads are touching and they both want to cry with the sheer weight of this life; _this burden that they both bear;_ but they cannot.

"I can feel everyone's blood." Katara's voice is a cracking, dry murmur, she squeezes her eyes shut against the thought of Zuko's blood on her hands.

"I know." Zuko lifts his hands to gather hers between his fingers, pale knuckles and tanned palms.

"Sometimes I think I'm crazy, Zuko. I can hear voices, and I can hear the sound of hearts pounding in my ears, and I froze Sokka's blood-" She chokes again, her knees curling to her chest, her fingers white with the grip she has on his calloused hands.

"Sokka mentioned you've been using my meditation techniques. I'm flattered," Zuko muses, and the dry humor in his words makes her eyes open again, blue irises dark with emotion, surprised at the sudden levity.

"But I can hear it, too. I see my father's face in the mirror. I see _failure."_ She feels the rawness in his words.

"You're not a failure, Zuko." The words are as gentle as she can manage; porcelain, glass, she gives them to him softly, like a gift.

He wilts right there, in her arms, crumpling into her with a great heave and a sigh and suddenly she is holding him.

"Thank you, Katara." He murmurs against her skin- wasn't it cold a moment ago? it's warm, now- and she lets him pool against her like water in sand.

They lay there for some time, wide awake, listening to the sound of each other's heartbeats and remembering what it was like to lay on hard, packed earth and to eat rice gruel three times a day.

"Katara?" He mumbles, tiredness heavy in his lungs; she shifts, his hair pressed against her cheek.

"I'm sorry about the letters. I shouldn't have stopped writing." The words are an age of relief for the girl and she finds the smallest smile lurking in a corner of her mouth before she remembers why it ached so much that he stopped writing.

"Zuko?" Her voice is a tremor, vulnerable, and he shifts his weight so that they are looking at each other again and she is swimming in his honeyed eyes. Her lower lip is caught between her teeth; there is a drop of blood, hovering there on the curve of her mouth, and he swipes it away with a careful finger.

"Hmm?" His answering hum, deep in his throat, is soft and low and comforting.

There is kindness in the crinkling of his eyes, the folds of his scar. There is a hesitance to him, a carefulness, and she _trusts_ him. She lets it all go like a geyser; tears pouring forth down the hollows of her cheeks and the bruises under her eyes.

"Aang left me for Toph seven months ago, Zuko. He said that forever wasn't possible with me when I'm-" The girl hiccups, Zuko pulls her to him, worry furrowing his brow intensely.

"-when I'm _like this."_ She ends messily, and he offers no answer to her cry. He says nothing; he only holds her against his chest- wide and warm and quivering with emotion, a volcano mass of pain that echoes her own _because Mai is not here and she has never been here because he, too, is 'like this'._

 _she knows Sokka's response would have been 'i'll kill him!' and Suki would have echoed the same battle cry, but she has no want of another fight, no need of more arguments between them all, and she is so tired. _

It is another several moments before her sniffles relent and they realize that they're holding onto each other with desperate, grasping fingers, and that there are tracks of salty tears on both of their faces and they are so close that no curve of their bodies escapes the others.

"And Toph is tough, and she is normal and unaffected because she can't hear peoples' _blood_. And Aang says that I'm _dark_ and he's too moral for _darkness._ " Katara bites the words like an insult and Zuko sees so much of himself in her pain, _fuck,_ and all he wants to do is grab her face in both of his hands and kiss her senseless and keep her safe from the agony of this world but _what good would that do?_

"Mai, too. She said I'm too boring for it all now, and that she has no desire for me." Zuko is flippant about it because it has been a full year since her dismissive exit; Katara's hand skims the jagged edges of his scar as he says the words, though, and that quiets him.

They are silent after that, listening to the chirping of the crickets in the heaviness of the evening outside, listening to the chafing of the air in each other's lungs. Katara's right hand is tangled in his hair, her left hand is clenched in both of his, and their legs are tangled, and neither of them are embarrassed.

Talking to each other has always been like speaking to another corner of their own souls; they know they are so alike that it hurts to be apart, sometimes.

At some point, his grip loosens and his breath comes in easy sighs and she knows he has fallen asleep. _Good, finally._ But she will not sleep. She will listen.

It is well after midnight when she finally hears it.

There is the scrabbling of limbs on stone; the gasping of breath of someone scaling a wall. Katara sits up smoothly, disentangling herself from the softly snoring Fire Lord and slipping to the floor. She crouches there, eyes closed; feeling the movements of the mass of blood and liquid climbing through Zuko's window. She holds their heart in her hands, and she lets the weight of it sit in her palms as her hands crack into the familiar shapes that bloodbending requires. _she knew this was what she was here for._

It is only then that she opens her eyes and sees the figure dressed in black, approaching with the softness of a trained assassin.

It is only then that she stands, letting them become fully aware of her presence before clenching her hand into a fist and watching them drop to the floor with a loud squeal of pain, wriggling on the floor gasping for air like a fish out of water.

It is then that Zuko rouses, watching Katara close her fist and twist it so that the assassin stills; his blood silences, then, the wild pounding of his heart disappearing.

He sees the quiet torture in her face as she stands there, motionless, impassive, her hands falling back to her sides.

The Fire Lord gets to his feet and pulls the girl to him for the second time that night for a long moment, whispering a 'thank you' to the girl that has just saved his life.

 _she can feel the stickiness of blood on her hands, on her fingers, dripping to the floor, but there is nothing, nothing-_

"Katara, look at me." He murmurs, the words forceful, and she has no choice but to stare up at him with wide eyes that have seen worse things.

"Are you okay?" He asks, and she wonders: _why ask me if I'm okay? are you okay? you're the one they're trying to kill-_

"I guess." The words are sticky and heavy and she is unused to this kind of concern. He is not satisfied with her reply, he huffs; but he presses a firm kiss to her forehead _(wait, Zuko, come back-)_ and turns to the motionless form on the floor.

He then hefts the body over his shoulder and kicks open the doors to his bedroom, sending a long look at the guards stationed nearby. He eyes them with narrowed slits for a long moment, jaw clenched, spitfire in his mouth, fury in his lungs.

"Another assassination attempt. Find out who they are, who they're working for, and where they're from. I want all of this on my desk by the end of the week." Zuko clips, dumping the body unceremoniously on the floor.

"And burn the body." The words are cold, and the guards salute him; he re-enters the bedroom and locks the doors behind him.

Katara is sitting on the edge of the bed when he returns to her, her hands cupped in her lap, her eyes wide and unblinking. He has to bodily move her back onto the bed, arranging her limbs carefully, his hands fluttering over her because she is so _still._

"It's so easy, Zuko." She says, plainly, and he nods. He has killed before, too, and he remembers it as a forceful thing that ended up being much too easy for a teenage boy.

"It's okay." He looks at her as if she were no different than the girl he had met so long ago, as if she were no less soiled, no less tarnished. This came as a relief to her, and she let her body sink onto the mattress as he lay across from her.

"You can sleep here tonight, if you want." He mumbles awkwardly, the tips of his ears reddening at the implication. Katara merely shrugs and curls into the sheets, fully clothed, and when his hand covers hers she allows herself to close her eyes.

 _finally._

* * *

They both wake some hours after dawn to the banging of his head servant on the door. Stiff, Katara rises first, frowning deeply for a moment until she remembers the events from the night before _and then she realizes how late she has slept and when was the last time she slept this late?_

Zuko slides to his feet and pulls his robe on with an effortless shrug of his shoulders- _his chest was bare. was his chest bare last night, too?-_ and answers the door with a coolness that Katara did not recognize.

"Good morning, sir. You are scheduled for seven meetings today-"

"Cancel them all." Zuko says curtly, and his manservant stumbles a little, unsure.

"My Lord?"

"You heard me. All of them. Canceled. There was another assassination attempt last night and I am not feeling much like dealing with those vipers in my council until I have this solved." Zuko snaps, his jaw clicking with irritation and his hand smoking faintly on the door frame.

"Yes, my Lord. At once."

"Please remind my guards to begin their evaluation of the assassin today." Zuko nods to his servant before shutting the door and locking it again. When he turns to face Katara, she has curled back into the sheets. He returns, scratching at his head and flushing faintly.

"Did you sleep okay? Once you fell asleep, that is." He asks, and she nods.

"Did you?"

He smiles at her question, tying his robe more firmly about his torso before nodding.

"Yeah, for the first time in a long time. I guess it must be 'cause you're here." He jokes, but they feel the tension in the room and they both shiver a little at the implication.

When she returns to her set of rooms to change, Sokka is waiting for her. She holds out her palms to him- _I saved Zuko's life last night but I had to kill a man-_ and he nods.

"I'm glad you're safe. Now I'm going to go find some breakfast. If this place doesn't have meat, I'm gonna be so upset." He smiles at the girl and she smiles back and for a moment she forgets that she just committed murder.

* * *

Zuko meets her outside of her room after she has dressed and attended to the snarl of curls that is her hair. He fumbles with his words a little, but he is dressed in simple clothes and his hair hangs around his face and she just wants to bury herself back in his arms because she feels a little like she belongs there.

He asks her to walk with him.

 _she'd go anywhere with him,_ she wants to scream, _anywhere._

But instead she nods and takes his arm and they walk through the gardens together without saying a word for a while. They feed the turtleducks, and he talks about his mother and how even little-girl Azula liked to singe the tails of the little creatures. Katara frowns and tosses a handful of breadcrumbs in their direction as reparation for the princess and her fire.

They laugh a little over the sweet, cooing animals.

"How long are you staying?" Zuko's voice is soft, even for him, and she strains to hear his question. She shrugs.

"As long as you need me to, I guess." Her answer makes him catch his lower lip between his teeth thoughtfully, and he reaches down to pluck something by his feet. When he turns to face her again, he is cupping a flower between his singed and calloused palms, and his face is red with embarrassment and he is scuffing his feet against the ground.

"Would you- uh- would you consider stayinghereforawhile?" He rushes, thrusting his hands towards her and ducking his head. Katara stares, shocked, for a long moment, blinking. He swallows noisily, arms extended, his heart pounding in his chest. She can _hear_ it.

"What I mean to say is...uh," The Fire Lord gets down on his knees somewhat unsteadily, and Katara is blushing now, too, thinking _La, I hope Sokka isn't watching this-_

"Master Katara, would you do me the honor of having an extended stay here in the capitol of the Fire Nation? I would value your company most highly." Zuko is tomato-red now and still not looking at her, his golden irises eyeing the ground stubbornly.

Katara laughs.

She laughs like the bubble of a fountain and a geyser erupting, like the rush of a waterfall and the breaking of a dam all at once.

She laughs at this boy who feels the same pain she does, who lives through constant attacks on his life, who fights for peace and kindness and loses on a daily basis and he can still _smile_ through it all. _La, Zuko._

She laughs like she hasn't in months, clutching at her stomach, wiping at her eyes, and bending forward to accept the flower.

"I would be most honored." She answers softly, and he nearly topples from shock. She helps him stand again, and he stares down at her for a moment before bending to embrace her, his arms looped about her waist and his chin resting on the crown of her head.

 _she thinks he understands. she thinks that it may help, being around someone that has felt blood on their hands and continued to live life as if they are no lesser for it._

"You need someone to save your royal butt, anyways." She teases, and Zuko is beaming and he cannot remember the last time she _teased_ him.

"Is that MY sister? I didn't think she knew how to hug anymore!" Sokka is bounding towards them now, and the moment is over; they are separating quickly, hurriedly, fanning each other's very red faces and coughing slightly.

"I thought I heard her laugh, too! What'd you say to her?" He glances between them for a long moment and waits; Katara answers first.

"Zuko just told me a joke, that's all." Her mouth is curved in a smile that Sokka hasn't seen in six months and he stares- _two days? two days in the fire nation and she's smiling again?_

"Did you two go on a life changing field trip again? Zuko doesn't tell jokes." He narrows his eyes suspiciously, crossing his arms. It is Zuko's turn to laugh, and Katara follows suit; and Sokka is standing, staring, confused and wondering what happened to make his sister act so _normal._

"No, but she did save my life last night, so I sort of owe her." Zuko shrugs inelegantly.

"Well you do seem like you need a trained warrior around." Sokka puffs his chest out, brandishing his boomerang suddenly, crouching low.

"Lemme at 'em! That'll show them for messing with Team Water Tribe!" He shouts, and Katara remembers that _this is what it was like, before._

 _we were a family. we laughed together, we teased each other; we saved each other._

Sokka runs off in the direction of the sparring grounds, chopping at the bushes ferociously as he goes, attacking innocent flowers and hacking at the trees. Zuko winces.

"The gardener is going to have a bone to pick with _him."_ Zuko says softly, teasing.

Katara looks up at the man standing next to her for a long moment _his blood pounding in her ears_ and she wonders when he grew up so fast.

"I don't think I'm okay after it all." She says after a pause, scraping her hair behind her ears, fidgeting a little. Zuko glances down at her, solemn, in agreement.

"I don't think any of us really got out without a few scrapes." He muses. He tucks his hands into his sleeves and straightens and for a moment, she can do nothing but stare at the man she has once loathed and now feels as if she cannot leave behind. _Not again._

"I think I could be, though. Here." She speaks the words with a quiet curiosity because there is something about the Fire Nation that has eased her sorrows just the slightest; something about the long way he stares at her and the way he listens and looks at her as if she is no less than he-

His mouth curves in the slightest of smiles, gently acknowledging her.

"I think I could be, too. With you here." Zuko speaks slowly, golden eyes flickering in the morning sun, and they stare, and they stare, and they _know_.

A pale, calloused hand reaches for a scarred, tan one, and the fingers tangle together _not for the first time_ but this time is not like the others, and somehow they know that, and somehow it's okay.

The world is a mess, and the Avatar is not a saint, and the Fire Nation is a land of corruption and the Water Tribes are in ruins and everything is chaos- _but somehow, right now, it is okay._

* * *

 **let me know what yall think! i'm not sure if i want to leave this as a one-shot or continue it into a longer piece, but i can't decide. help a girl out!  
**

 **love,**

 **nightfall26**


	2. traps

**_setting:_** _one year after the war has ended._

 ** _disclaimer:_** _I own nothing.  
_

 ** _author's notes:_** _'i_ _f I am the phantom, it is because man's hatred has made me so. if I am to be saved it is because your love redeems me.' -g. leroux  
_

* * *

In the Fire Nation, she wakes before the dawn; she curls into effortless silks in shades of red and carmine and sits cross-legged next to the Fire Lord on bamboo mats. They let the palms of their hands face the morning sky and close their eyes; they breathe deeply and they feel deeply and they are connected to more than just each other in that moment.

They sneak crooked, barely suppressed smiles at each other when their eyes finally crack open in the brightness of the dawning morning. Sometimes, they realize that their knees are so close to brushing that they knock into each other when they get to their feet; they fumble through apologies, red faced, Zuko hurrying to steady the girl and straightening his robes with pinked ears. She laughs at the stumbling pair that they both make. He tries very hard not to kiss her.

 _because they are friends, very best friends, and he still wonders if there is more-_

Occasionally, after their meditation, the Fire Lord has enough time in his morning to tuck her hand into the crook of her arm and escort her to breakfast. His robes slide through the patterns of dust on the marble floors; her curves are swathed in gentle silks the color of the rising sun and even the most stubborn of courtiers nod in respect to the pair.

They share tea and fruit; hidden smiles curved into their faces, eyes glinting in the light of the early morning. They speak of things come to pass and progress yet to make; ideas for his people, for her people, for _their_ people.

Other mornings, such as this one, he rubs the back of his neck and stammers an apology to the girl with the ocean-eyes that he has grown so fond of.

"I'm sorry, Katara, I have a-"

"Meeting. I'll see you later, then." She smiles easily at the boy with the shaggy black hair and watches him scramble to ready himself. Half the time he cannot remember where his notes are, or where he has last left his crown; Katara hands these things to him with a soft, sly grin and helps him clasp the bronzed gold into his hair.

She watches him straighten his posture, roll his shoulders back; watches him smooth his expression into a cool, marble mask. But the waterbender can also see the black smudges under his eyes and she knows he does not sleep easy.

 _she, too, lies awake at night. she listens for the heartbeat of intruders, feels the heaviness of poison in his drinks, challenges all those that oppose his rule._

 _but her nightmares are fading._

Today, he looks down at her at length, his brow furrowing as he stares. He catches her hands in his, and she frowns.

"What's wrong, Zuko?" She is so _beautiful_ , he thinks, constellations reflected in the sea of her gaze. The acorn-tint of her skin is warmed by the approaching sunlight, and he wants to bury himself in the chocolate-russet of her hair. Instead, however, he chews on his lower lip for a moment.

The crease between her eyebrows deepens as he remains silent for another moment longer, and she repeats his name with a strain of urgency.

 _he almost can't hear her, now, all he can hear is the hateful cry of his father's supporters as he took the throne and the barrage of arrows that fell upon the palace's lawn the day of his coronation, burning the grass, burning the flowers, burning everything-_

"There are rumors." He begins, folding her hands to his chest, bending his head just slightly so that he rests his forehead on the crown of her skull.

"Rumors, Zuko?"

"Rumors of another attack. Soon. I'm going to have to ask you to stay-" He barely manages to get out the majority of his sentence before the ocean-eyed warrior in his arms pushes herself free, mouth pursed, arms crossed tightly across her chest.

"Don't even say it. You know that we're more powerful together, Zuko, I won't let you wander around alone." She spits the words and he hears _history_ in them, feels the pain of lightning through his veins and the crackling of the air around them-

 _it's me who should be thanking you._

The Fire Lord sighs- he has expected this- and he concedes to the girl.

The last time he heard her say those words, they both nearly lost their lives.

"Alright." The word is bitter, tinged with disappointment; she wonders as to why this is.

"You can come along. Both to my briefing this afternoon and down to the city with me. But at the first sign of danger-" Zuko slants her a look, golden eyes chilly and the line of his jaw a slash of tension.

"-don't try that either, Fire Lord. If it comes to a fight, I'll be at your back. Like I should be." Katara quips, picking at the ragged edges of her nails as she delivers a glare out of the corner of her eyes. He lifts his palms to her in defeat; empty of everything but scars and memories and burns. She has never noticed before, but a few of his nails are missing on his right hand; there are callouses so deep that she wonders if he can feel anything in the nerves in his fingers.

"I don't want you to get hurt." His shoulders slump minutely, _helplessly_ , his eyes flicker to the floor- there he is, the lost boy that stumbled after her around the globe- his ears are pinked and he is stubbornly refusing to meet her gaze.

Katara scoffs lightly, and he frowns, looking up quickly at the girl who saved his life.

"Come on, Zuko. You sent for me for a reason. I'm the most powerful weapon you have, and you know it." There is an aged weariness to her words, and the young Fire Lord wants to wrap her in his arms and _fuck_ the council and _fuck_ the responsibilities, he just wants to _protect_ her _._

But he knows its true. There is a dangerous edge to the girl he grew up with, a power that echoes in her bones that he doesn't always understand.

With her by his side, he no longer has to watch over his shoulder or fear closing his eyes at night. With her by his side, he feels as if he could actually _do_ this; that he could win the hearts of his people.

* * *

She attends the briefing of the council in full Water Tribe regalia, storms whirling in her eyes. A few of his council members murmur protests against her presence; she holds a globe of water between her hands to further unnerve them as Zuko calmly explains that she, too, is allowed access to his private advisory council as she is an ambassador of the Water Tribes.

At first, she is respectfully quiet; listening to the droning of the admirals and the generals as they describe each event that will most positively, in _their_ opinions, affect the Fire Nation.

Some describe the continuing need to assert dominance over the other nations by keeping a large army intact. Katara frowns deeply at this, as does Zuko; the lines in his forehead like cracks in the dry earth.

Precious few have actual, solid advice, and she wants to sag with relief when they speak. One of them is Iroh, who offers some sage words, his comforting tone peppered throughout the conversation.

When Zuko looks to her and nods for her opinion, she pushes herself to her feet so that the room can see she is not _one of them._ She is here at the request of their Fire Lord, and none of them have the power to banish her; she is determined to make herself heard.

"I believe that it is most effective to completely dismantle the current army and send them all home. It is prudent to find new soldiers, a handful of them close to Lord Zuko's cause, that will serve him should the need arise. I see no need for a large army anymore, gentlemen." The words are cutting, accompanied by a sweet, saccharine smile that makes a few of the men in the room glance away from her. Disapproving mutters ripple throughout the room before an elder man with a drooping mustache speaks, his mouth pursed in distaste.

"With all due respect, Lady Katara, you are not of a Nation with a large army-"

"With all due _respect,_ General," The girl interrupts coolly, and Zuko pales; he knows they have struck a nerve with the waterbender. Iroh visibly steeples his fingers; whether out of amusement or out of worry, no one can quite tell.

" _You_ are the reason my Nation no longer possesses an army of any real size." She pauses here, still smiling widely, too-white teeth bared like a wolf. Her furs are draped around her shoulders and in that moment, she seems almost _feral_.

The General in question visibly shudders.

"I would remind the council of that, and that they must acknowledge that keeping a large army intact will only further the mistrust between yourselves and the other Nations." Katara's hands are quivering, tight fists by her side, and she is trying so hard to keep herself calm, trying so hard not to clench tighter, to squeeze the blood out of all of these utter _morons_ -

"I believe Master Katara's opinion holds merit." Iroh strokes his beard, humming slightly under his breath with thought. The room falls silent as the advisors regard the elder Dragon of the West, some with disgust curling their lips, some echoing his own pensive expression.

"I agree." The Fire Lord rises, and for a moment, Katara does not recognize her friend; he is all high cheekbones and regal airs, broad shoulders and a smooth, cool expression.

"My Lord-"

" _Master_ Katara is here at my invitation, I might remind you. She is the single most powerful bender in the world, save the Avatar, and I trust her inexplicably. Further, gentlemen, I trust her knowledge of the war. She fought first hand with many of these other Nations, and I believe her opinions to be quite sound." Zuko speaks slowly, tapping the tips of his fingers against the marble of the table.

The girl inclines her head to him out respect, the slightest whisper of a smile curling the edges of her mouth as she releases the hold on the heart of the General that came _so_ close to pushing her over the edge.

"I suggest that we first oversee the dismantling of the factory, then." The man who nearly insulted Katara earlier speaks suddenly, and she feels her brow furrow at the strange eagerness in his voice.

"Dismantling, my Lord?" Katara asks, eyes narrowed, slanting a look at the advisor across the table from her. Zuko motions to a sketch across the room that bears the name and the blue prints of a factory.

"The largest weapons manufacturer in the capitol has agreed to meet with us this afternoon to discuss ceasing production. It's a step towards pacifying our image." Zuko explains, and a chill races through the girl as she realizes that Zuko would be in the line of fire.

"You would emerge so publicly?" Katara questions, and a corner of his mouth quirks briefly at her; a flicker of amusement in his eyes. Her stomach _squeezes_ low and deep at his assurance and his amusement and she wants nothing more than to be _alone_ with him-

"With your protection, Master Katara, I feel quite secure."

"Yes, my Lord, we should set about securing that meeting." The General insists. Katara can feel something _else_ in his voice; she feels the racing of his blood, the quickness of his pulse, and she wonders; if he is so conservative, so interested in maintaining a military front, why this change? Why now?

But she reassures herself that no matter what, she would be by Zuko's side; and she would _kill_ anyone that tried to harm him without so much as a sliver of regret.

* * *

The Fire Lord leads the small procession of servants and guards down to his palanquin, where he awaits transport to oversee the dismantling of one of the largest weapons factory in the city. It is an act long in the making, and many in the city are wary of such a change. They are curious as to where they will get their income; they are afraid of falling into ruin.

Surprisingly enough to the crowds, the Lady Katara also follows the Fire Lord; but she is dressed in the full armor of her tribe. The sides of her hair are braided so tightly she can feel her the flesh of her face tugging against it, resisting the pull; she can hear the squeaking of the leather she polished this morning. Her water pouch rests familiarly at her hip; her breastplate is an ornately stitched work of leather. Blue cloth is tucked underneath the harshness of the metal and leather guarding the softest places of her body, and she has swirled blue paint around the edges of her eyes. Her hair is a wild, curling halo behind her head; dark locks braided against her skull with shells and bone. When she turns her head, there is a clicking sound that accompanies the movement.

 _let them see,_ she dares, _let them come. i will boil the blood beneath their flesh and they will know why i am to be feared._

Zuko is even a little afraid of his friend, who stares at all who glance her way with furious cerulean eyes narrowed and jaw clenched. She is a vivacious, electric sight; beautiful in a fearful way. His people know her as the saviour of their Fire Lord, the woman that saved his life and defeated the mad princess; they are cheering at her appearance, and she is trying not to listen. He can see the fear behind her eyes and he knows, he _knows_ \- she is trying not to listen to the singing of their blood.

* * *

She is livid when they tell her she is not allowed into the factory with him.

"Lady Katara, please be reasonable-"

"I cannot be _reasonable_ , General. I am here for the protection of the Fire Lord, and if I cannot _accompany_ him, I cannot _protect_ him." She speaks slowly, as if to an infant, the words a low drawl in her throat.

"You are not of the Fire Nation, my Lady. To allow you to enter would be of great offense to the master of the factory. We cannot risk undermining these plans we have so carefully constructed."

The coolness in his tone makes her narrow her eyes to suspicious, deadly slits; and the older General pats her shoulder with condescension before exiting the palanquin with a withering sigh rattling his lungs.

"Reign in your attack dog, Fire Lord. She is not necessary for a peaceful talk such as this one." He snipes, before sliding away to join the others.

Zuko slants a look at the girl, his mouth pinched; his forehead furrowing. _she knows all he wants is peace, all he wants is to make his people happy; he will sacrifice his own safety for this-_

"Katara," There is a gentleness in the way he smooths her name across his lips, and the tension in her shoulders droops for a moment. The ice-hard clench of her jaw slips; and in the space between her name and the rest of his sentence, she wants to curl into him like water sinking into sand. She wants to tear him away from the sneaking, slippery gazes of the advisors that peddle their own best interests to him.

 _she wants to unlace his armor and let him collapse into her, let him sigh with relief as he shuts the doors against the prying eyes of the court and let him be loved by her-_

But she cannot.

"I'll be okay. Don't worry." He drops his hand from its grip on the exit seam of the curtains. The wall that separates them from the rest of the world slides back into place then, and for that moment, it is just the two of them. She cannot hear the pounding hearts of those outside; all she can feel is the steady thrumming of the Fire Lord's pulse and the solidity it grants her.

She finds her gaze wandering in those few seconds; from the angled slant of his jaw to the sweep of his hair pulled into a top knot, the broadness of his shoulders and the firmness of his stance. _she wonders when he grew up._

"I don't want you to go alone." The girl murmurs softly, her voice cracking; and she is fifteen again, scared witless, watching him crumple to the ground, his body writhing with the blue electricity that nearly stopped his heart.

Zuko's eyes are serene; his mouth twisted in a wry smile. There is a long, stagnant pause where they stare at each other, her breath caught in her throat, her palms sweating, fear a metallic tang on the back of her tongue. His eyes are unwavering, catlike; the golden spheres strangely calm as he regards her.

He rises. She gets to her feet as well, ready to argue, a confrontation already poised in her mouth-

 _and he kisses her._

Calloused fingers slip just under her jaw, curling into the angles of her face. _she cannot breathe, she cannot think, she is drowning in her emotion-_

His lips are a warm whisper across her own, a momentary caress that startles her enough that when he exits the palanquin, she _remains_. A moments hesitation- she is pressing the pads of her fingers against her mouth- and then she realizes where he has gone.

She all but flies out of the palanquin, desperation pounding in her ears, confusion ringing through her head. He and his generals have vanished into the smoke of the factory in a flourish of deep-red robes and gold embroidery. She chokes on her fear; bile rising bitterly in her throat, acerbic, burning away the calm that his presence had brought her.

The doors slam shut behind them; heavy iron that she knows she cannot move. She wants to scream and tear at her hair, she wants to slam ice into the window panes until the glass shatters and she can follow him.

 _how could he do this to her? she knows they are better together, together, together-_

She barely so much as draws another breath when the first explosion bursts through the factory- shards of glass are zipping through the air and she is throwing up a wall of ice to protect herself and the passerby. The warrior-girl is screaming his name as the ground rocks with another explosion, the flames licking at her heels as she tears through the doors with water-whips and struggles her way through the smoke.

 _she knew it was a trap-_

There are bodies littering the ground. There are bodies, and she cannot see their faces; she can only taste the iron-smoke that fills the air. His name is rattling stubbornly from her aching lungs and she forces herself to bend her way through the flames, her body cased in water, her eyes stinging.

Pieces of the building are collapsing beneath her feet as a second explosion knocks her to the ground, but she struggles on. The bare skin of her cheeks stings; her fingers come away stained with blood when she touches a hand to the pain.

There is screaming everywhere; people are burning, people are crying- but she cannot stop. Katara sees the hunched figure of the General from earlier, curled into a ball, his shoulders wracked with coughs- or sobs? she couldn't tell.

The stubbornness of her damn conscience forces her to lean over and push the General towards the stairs, shouting at him to move, to use his legs, heaving his body in the direction of the exit until he manages to crawl his way free of the flames.

 _I will never turn my back on anyone who needs me._ The mantra is practically spiritual to her, a guiding force that had pushed her through her days as the Avatar's companion.

 _zuko, where are you?_

She is tearing through the rubble like a mad thing, screams of frustration tearing from her as she searches for the body of her errant, stubborn Fire Lord- _she is crying, now, because she never got the chance to tell him anything-_

She sees him, then, partially pinned underneath an iron beam. The girl cannot tell if he is breathing, cannot see if he is injured, but she wants to sob with relief all the same.

It takes all of her strength to lift the solid iron with water whips, and then she falls to her knees beside him, grasping at his robes, his arms, anything she can get a solid grip on- and she is struggling to loop his arms around her shoulders so she can heft his weight onto her back.

"Come on, Zuko, you need to lay off of the komodo chicken." She quips to herself, teeth gritted, sweat running in rivulets down her face. The casing she has bent around herself is now encapsulating his body, as well, and the girl is struggling to get them to the stairs. Flames are everywhere; the building is unsteady. The staircase is now curling with flame and smoke and she feels her heart _squeeze_ in her chest but she _will not_ let them die. _La_ , there were so many things she had yet to say.

 _she wants him to know how much she cares for him, that she trusts him, that she doesn't see his father when he looks at her-_

Eyeing the room around them, she realizes that they are trapped; and the moisture is slowly being sucked out of the air. Her watery body-glove is faltering, flickering like a dying flame, and the water-girl is struggling for each breath. She kicks out a window in her desperation, and after glancing down to see the shards fall into the water below, tightens her grip on the boy slung over her back and throws them both out of the window and into the murky waters of the factory's lake.

When they surface, he is barely breathing.

Hands are waiting to drag the pair to safety, and she cannot stop coughing, cannot stop spitting black-tainted ash-liquid. Her fingers are fisted in his robes and she is screaming at anyone that tries to get near him, hunched over his motionless form in the street, eyeing them all as if they all wanted him dead. She knows she is bedraggled and wild-eyed, her robes torn and smoking faintly from the flames, the edges blackened and her hair falling down her back in soaked, curling strands. She knows what she must look like; a crazed waterbender drenched to the skin, but she will not let anyone else touch him.

 _trust nobody, they are all lying-_

There are ice shards all around the pair, a spiked wall between her and the rest of them, and even though her legs are shaking with exhaustion and she can barely draw a proper breath into her burning lungs, she is prepared for a fight. She used to _live_ like this, in constant fear of battle; food-starved, sleep deprived, having just barely survived the last graze with death.

"Who _did_ this?" She screeches, her voice taut; ready to snap. She does not recognize the faces around her, she whirls to see them all; they are staring at her blankly, silently.

"Who did this to your _Fire Lord?_ " Katara's throat is raw from the smoke but it is worn thin with hatred; she is standing over his body and feeling his heartbeat and telling herself that she got to him in time. _he will live, he has to live-_

Even though it is not a full moon she can feel her grip on the blood of the people surrounding them and she is ready to clench her fists and end the life of whoever _did this._

"Master Katara," A voice cuts through the murmurings of the crowd, the nervous glances of the townspeople, the coughing of those that escaped the explosions. The girl spins on her feet easily, eyes narrowed, coming face-to-face with the speaker.

It is Iroh, flanked on either side by two battalions of soldiers, and his face is deeply lined with fear. The girl stumbles, then, her staunch pose drooping as the elder man approaches her.

"Master Katara, we need to get Zuko to safety." His voice is calm and slow, and she casts a look back down at Zuko before letting her ice shards melt into her hands as she surveys his injuries.

 _her hands skim the pale, bruised flesh of his torso, hesitating when they pass over the star-shaped scar in the center of his chest-_

The ocean-eyed girl drops to her knees, then, ignoring the blood that stains her hands and the sting of her own injuries. Her hands glow blue; the crowd watches, entranced, as the waterbender manages to heal the worst of his injuries with the last of her strength before collapsing with her head on top of his chest.

* * *

It takes two days for the waterbender to wake. When she does, she moves like a raging storm; all wild, unkempt hair and eyes bluer than the summer sky.

She pauses only to stop at Sokka's rooms to make sure he knows she is alright; he is weary-eyed and relieved when she embraces him. When she asks after the Fire Lord, his gaze wanders to the floor; and fear is suddenly choking her as she flees her brother's suite and dashes down the hall.

She throws the doors open to Zuko's bedchamber with all of her strength, and is relieved to see Iroh seated by his bedside, sipping at a cup of tea and looking not at all surprised to see the girl.

"I'm glad you're awake, my Lady. He's stabilized. He asked for you a few times-"

"You should have woken me! I would have come." Katara cries, self-deprecation heavy in her words as she considers that he might have needed her and she had been _sleeping-_

 _"-_ but you're here now, and he'll awaken soon enough. His wounds were mostly surface-level, thanks to you. You pulled him from the wreckage and healed the worst of his lacerations. Nothing will scar permanently." Calm as usual, the slightly-rotund man smiles at the girl gently and sips at his cup of tea again.

Visibly, the girl sags with relief at this; Iroh gestures to the bed for her to sit. It is large; there is plenty of room for her to pool her exhausted body across from the sleeping Fire Lord and take a proffered cup of tea from the wrinkled hand of his Uncle. They spend a few quiet moments like this; her fingers curling around the slim, pale wrists of the boy she thinks she loves, her eyes watching his chest rise and fall evenly. She skims the dip of his wrist with tracing fingers that have taken lives, her lips pressed together tightly as she passes her water-gloved hands over his torso and makes sure that his healing process is coming along well.

The old Dragon of the West eyes the bruise-like circles under the girls red-rimmed eyes and thinks that she is too much like his nephew; old before their time.

"I'm sorry I couldn't get to him faster, Iroh." She mumbles, her clumsy apology spilling across the silence as a ragged sob tears through the end of her sentence. Iroh sighs, he puts his empty cup of tea down.

"It is by no means your fault, my dear. We have begun the unraveling of a plot to overthrow Zuko; because of your quick thinking, many of the people in the building survived, and we have been able to start questioning the members of the council." He smiles at the girl faintly as he refills his cup.

"Truly, Master Katara, I must be thanking you for maintaining the safety of my nephew. He trusts you a great deal, and I can't imagine anyone more qualified to be beside him during these trying times. Also, please, for the thousandth time, call me Uncle." He winks at her.

Katara flushes at the praise, her fingers anxiously skimming the callouses that line Zuko's fingers.

"I believe that we have guests." Iroh muses, and the pair listen to the pattering of feet from down the hall. Katara pushes herself immediately off of the bed, teacup forgotten; her hands are already cracking into familiar poses and she is throwing herself between the door and the Fire Lord.

She is still fully clad- and quite stiff- in the armor from the attack, which she thinks must add to her already unraveled appearance. By the time the door is rattling on its hinges, she has drawn a long, even breath through her nose and prepared herself; she can hear the heartbeats, one fluttering, one stable. She is hellfire and a brewing storm; she is ready to defend the man that she thinks she has _always_ loved.

But when the door finally flings itself open, she is not prepared for _who_ she faces. A low whine of pain slips from her mouth as she sees a surly, stout Earthbender, arms crossed and stubborn cheeks reddened with blotchy emotions. Beside her stands a surprised looking Avatar, serene in his golden-sunrise robes, eyes wide. He is taller, now, Katara observes blankly, feeling her legs quiver from shock underneath her.

 _she remembers the letters that she fed to the hearth, remembers the pleading in Toph's notes, begging for forgiveness; every letter was unanswered-_

A moment passes in complete silence, Katara's bloodbending poses cracked in the air between them; Aang eyes her hands with a slight narrowing of his eyes and she _remembers-_

 _'i can't handle all of the darkness in you, katara, i need someone who is more like me-'_

"Out." She hisses, the word strained; Aang flinches visibly at her, falling back a step. Toph sighs in irritation, turning and sauntering out of the room and down the hall before the waterbender can say anything else.

"Get out." Katara repeats herself, this time flicking ice knives in his direction, a growl of fury rumbling deep in her chest; just enough to push Aang back through the doorway.

"-wow, Katara, you look like death-"

"And what the _fuck_ do you think you're doing here?" She interrupts, the words snapping like a whip in the space between them, the expletive making the monk wince. Katara thinks that he is just now seeing her for the first time, just now recognizing her for who she really is; and he doesn't like what he sees.

Somehow, she's okay with that.

"I'm here to see Zuko. He's my friend." The Avatar mumbles, folding his hands across his stomach and staring at her with wide, troubled grey eyes.

A snort of derision escapes the water-warrior, rolling her eyes heavenward. _La, give me strength._

"Right, sure. What are you really doing here?"

"I'm being serious, Katara."

"Well where were you when he needed the Avatar? When the world needed it's protector? Where were you when Zuko was dealing with literally _dozens_ of assassination attempts and he nearly _died?_ Oh, that's right, being selfish." She snarls the words, ice-hard, chilly; her teeth are bared and her eyes are narrowed to hateful, electric blue slits. Her hands are balled by her side and she can hear his heartbeat increasing in pace; _good, let him be anxious, let him feel the weight of my words._

"Traveling the world without a care for the _rest_ of us. You don't get to see him, Aang. You don't deserve that. He asked _me_ to come help him, and that's what I'm going to do. I'm going to stay by his side and help him succeed, which is so much more than you can say you've done for this fledgling world." She is all tight, quivering fury now, shaking shoulders and bright, vicious eyes. Aang rubs his face with his hand, sighing, and she crosses her arms over her chest.

"Look, Katara, if this is about what I said to you about us-"

"This has nothing to do with the things you said to me before you left. I could care less that you didn't want me around, that you preferred someone else. All I care about is that you left _Zuko,_ who _trusted_ you, alone in a place of power that is still unstable. It almost cost him his life." Katara gestures to the room behind her with jerky, exhausted movements, trying not to listen to the way his blood is singing.

"You won't believe what I've discovered, Katara-"

"I don't _care._ " She snaps, jaw clicking with irritation.

Aang shrugs. She can _feel_ his pain, his childish confusion; but all he does is shrug.

"I'll come back later. You're probably just overtired, Katara. Get some rest." The Avatar eyes her carefully, and she almost laughs; how _dare_ he think he knows her now?

Katara stares at him with boiling eyes until he turns to retreat down the hall, and when he has finally rounded the corner, she reenters the Fire Lord's chambers. Iroh is no longer seated next to him, so she claims the elder man's seat; she pulls his hand into hers and presses her mouth to the center of his palm.

She may be dark, she may possess a bending technique more lethal than a weapon; she may have _killed_ , may have done awful, unspeakable things, but for whatever reason, Zuko looks at her like she is his moon and all of his stars.

"You saved my life again." The words are coming blurrily from the sleepy mouth of the Fire Lord, and she wants to cry with the sudden rush of relief that he is awake. His eyes are dizzy as he tries to regain consciousness.

"Stupid. I told you not to go anywhere without me, Fire Lord." She chides gently, her fingers curled into his. Zuko smiles weakly, brow furrowing with slight pain as he realizes the extent of his injuries. Katara bends a water glove over her hands, examining him, dulling the pain so that his eyes clear somewhat.

"I don't want to go anywhere again without you." He says quietly, seriously; he has grasped both of her hands in his, now, and is staring at her with fevered, golden eyes. _she loves him, she loves him-_

Her heart slams to a messy halt in her chest as she realizes what he has just said to her; her lips are parting in shock.

"I want you to be beside me. Always. I don't want to let you out of my sight for another moment." Zuko's voice is low and rasping and familiar, the warmth of him spreading to her body; she wants to bury herself into him. His hands are traveling the length of her arms, skimming the pockmarked armor up to her throat; he is pulling her down to him and she is letting him and she cannot breathe because he is so _close._

"I wanted to do this properly, but since I've already gone and done it-" Zuko sighs a little, nudging her nose with his, and they are closing their eyes and their mouths are meeting feverishly and _fuck_ it feels like everything is finally right in the world. The waves are crashing and the fire is raging and they have never felt so alive; they are grasping at each other, checking for injuries, and somehow there are tears in both of their eyes.

" _Agni,_ Katara, I'm so in love with you that it hurts." He murmurs against her lips, hands tangled in her hair, and she is curling her fingers around his jaw and pressing herself closer to him and she is mumbling the words over and over again, her mouth against his scar.

"Spirits, Zuko," She whispers, her head tucked into his shoulder as gingerly as she can manage, given his injuries. He hums in response, a crooked, unabashed smile curling his mouth.

"I think I've always loved you." Katara's voice is quiet in the dusky afternoon, the light splaying its spindly fingers across the bed. Zuko is still smiling, and he shifts slightly so he can press a kiss to her forehead lengthily.

"I know," He says thickly, and she can feel the dampness of his tears against her skin.

"I know." The Fire Lord repeats lowly, before leaning over again to kiss her, feeling her smile; they tangle together in the easiness of the afternoon glow.

* * *

 **yay yay yay! i wrote a second chapter!**

 **thanks for all of your encouragement & reviews, they really helped me out so much! i'm planning on a third installment, so hang on for that!**

 **love,**

 **nightfall26**


	3. ashes

**_setting:_** _one year after the war has ended._

 ** _disclaimer:_** _I own nothing.  
_

 ** _author's notes: '_** _it was the rare souls full of hope who showed the world what could be done.' -hugh howey, sand_

* * *

She doesn't think she can ever forgive the light-footed Avatar; doesn't think she can ever look him in the eye with the respect and admiration that she used to.

She is listening to the _clang_ as each piece of her armor falls to the floor heavily, pockmarked with dents and scratches and burns. She stares into the mirror with hollow, weary eyes, fingers barely managing to unlace the singed leather beneath the iron.

"Here. Let me." Zuko's voice, quiet and rasping in the slowly dimming light of the afternoon, interrupts her movements. Her clumsy, numb fingers fall to her sides as she allows him to help her out of the stiffened armor. She can hear the sharp intake of breath as he notices the bruises and scars flecking her arms and shoulders, the burn marks on her throat; she healed him before she could heal herself.

His hands pause for a moment on the gentle slope of her shoulders and she can feel the callouses on the pads of his fingertips as they skim along the tanned skin; she can feel the goosebumps rising along her throat. She quivers a little with the emotion she feels between them, feeling both of their heartbeats quicken. His fingers hover over the injuries, trembling reverently; his voice is thick with emotion when he finally speaks.

"I'm so sorry, Katara. I should have listened to you." He mumbles, fisting his white fingers in the ebony of his hair, gripping with the strength of self-deprecation. She turns to face him, lips quirked slightly at the corners.

"It's done, Zuko. Listen to me _next_ time." The waterbender remarks, teasing gently, picking his fingers from his skull and holding them between her tanned, calloused palms. He squirms under her scrutiny for a moment, wriggling his hands free.

"But you wouldn't have been hurt if I had made them let you come with me." He frowns; she shakes her head, dimpling with a grin, teeth white against her ash-stained cheeks. He can hear the merry clicking of the bone and shell she has braided into the tangled, knotted locks; for a moment, he can feel the chill of a southern breeze against his cheeks.

 _but then he blinks, and suddenly, she is clothed in fiery red and gold; her hair is long and curling and decorated with a golden flame-_

"I probably would have been squashed underneath a beam, like you were. Honestly, it might be a lucky thing that I wasn't right behind you. Otherwise nobody would have been able to save your royal ass." Katara teases, and he flushes a little, and they stare _and stare and stare_ for a moment before she remembers her state of dress.

Her heartbeat falls jaggedly out of step as she realizes she is standing in front of the Fire Lord in nothing but a torn-to-shreds length of blue fabric, the edges of her sarashi peeking through. She is no longer a thin, underfed girl-child; in her time away from him, she has blossomed into a woman, and she has no desire to run about in nothing but her wrappings any longer.

He seems to realize the same thing all at once; he looks mildly ill, swallowing noisily in the strained silence that has fallen over them as his cheeks flame.

She steps out of the last of her armor, clothed in dirty, singed wrappings; Zuko nods towards the bathroom, jaw clenched minutely, decisively not looking in her direction. He pockets his hands; she does not miss that his knuckles are white with the effort of clenching his fists.

"You can draw a bath, if you'd like. I've got some spare robes that might fit you- if you don't mind the color, that is." He pinks immediately, tips of his ears flaming red. Katara laughs hoarsely, leaning her head into the wide, burning chest of the Fire Lord for a moment. Surprised, he glances down at the head of curls pressed to his chest; he lets his arm wrap about her for a moment _and Agni it feels so right to hold her_ and his heart squeezes painfully when she steps out of his embrace.

"Get back in bed, Fire Lord. I can take care of myself." She flicks her hair over her shoulder, the ghost of a grin on her face; his eyes are trained on the motion and he has to remind himself to stop _staring_ at her.

He swears he can see the stars in her eyes, glittering faintly, a quiet, cold burn that reminds him of her strength.

 _agni, she is so beautiful- even covered in ash and dirt and bruises and blood-_

"Okay." He manages, before watching the bathroom door shut. His face is flushed with embarrassment- how _old_ is he, again?- and he reminds himself to look for a spare set of robes. He is more than a little dazed, but he struggles his way to the wardrobe and thumbs through the silken garments, almost unthinkingly; his heart is slamming messily against his rib cage and he feels more awkward than he can ever remember being.

The Fire Lord thrusts the clean set of robes through the door, dumping them unceremoniously on the counter in the bathroom, eyes averted, before slamming the door shut again. He can hear her laughter even through the paneling of the door; the sound bubbles and fizzes and he is reminded of the long-forgotten songs and lore of river spirits, the tales from his childhood that danced in his dreams.

 _he wonders if she is a river spirit, sent to sing him into a watery grave; somehow, he wouldn't mind._

She sinks into the bath with a sigh, the warm water glowing faintly as she starts to attend to her own injuries. There isn't much she can do- they've all set into her skin- but she soothes the ache somewhat and lets herself relax into the warmth of the tub. There are scented soaps and soft towels and she wonders when she has ever been exposed to so much luxury all at once.

The girl of ice and snow stares at her reflection in the mirror for a long moment after she has slid Zuko's robes on and tied them securely. She commits the sight of the dark carmine edged in gold to memory; sees how the hue brings out the blueness of her eyes and the foreign, almond-tint of her skin.

 _it is almost as if she belongs in red; almost as if she has been waiting a lifetime to feel secure, to feel at home, at peace._

The longer she stares, the quieter her mind becomes.

 _how is it that she feels more at home in the land of fire than she did in the land of ice?_

When she emerges again, he is curled into the sheets, the worry lines on his face smoothed with peace. The ruined side of his face is tilted up; his eyes are closed, eyelashes casting spidery shadows upon the curves of his cheeks. He looks feverishly young and threadbare; barely held together with the promises that have been made to him.

She steps towards him, bare feet on the elegant, woven rugs, trailing a length of fabric behind her as she walks. Katara is wrapped in the crimson silk of the Fire Lord; she can still smell his presence in the robes she has tied about herself, smoke and spice. Something chokes deep in her throat as she lets the pads of her fingers rest on the ridges of his scar, something aches as she cups his cheek in her palm.

 _how much pain he must have been in,_ she muses to herself, _the agony must have kept him awake for months._

She is disturbed by the images her mind produces of the young Fire Prince writhing in distress; unable to sleep, unable to bear the sight of his own face. Her thumb has begun to move in tiny circles across the surface of his scarred cheekbone; he stirs, one golden eye regarding her curiously.

"Does it hurt?" She blurts, her fingertips pausing, curling gently around the back of his neck and feeling the pulse at his throat. Amused, Zuko shakes his head; a flash of a smile has quirked one edge of his mouth and she feels her cheeks heat for asking.

"The nerve endings were too damaged to function. I felt nothing after a few days, which I suppose was a blessing." He notes wryly, catching her hand in his and pressing it to his mouth. A moment passes; she listens easily to the sound of his breath shifting in his lungs and she lets her fingers wander across the planes of his face again.

"You don't... mind it?" His voice cracks in the center of his sentence; she watches his forehead crumple with worried lines. A wistful smile crosses her face, then, as she shakes her head silently.

"Of course not, Zuko. Your scar has always been a mark of honor, in my eyes." The waterbender murmurs lowly, and she watches as emotion streaks suddenly across his face. He is surprised, at first; jaw working, golden eyes widened, and she thinks for a moment he may cry.

Instead, he sits up and pulls her to him; his hands are warm, palms flattened against her back.

"Thank you." He mumbles against her hair, and then he releases her, almost as quickly as he had gathered her into his arms. He seems to just notice in that moment that she is wearing his colors; it feels oddly intimate to be wearing his robe, and she inhales sharply as he skims the rough pads of his fingers along the length of her jaw, slipping down her throat and finally coming to rest on the embroidered material.

"You look beautiful in red," Zuko murmurs; so quietly she almost misses the sentiment. "I hope you don't hate it too much."

Her heart lurches painfully, then, and she presses her mouth to his feverishly; hoping she can convince him that she doesn't hate _anything_ about him, least of all the color of his Nation.

* * *

She is not sure when she fell asleep.

She stirs muzzily, stretching her stiff legs out as she realizes how much time has passed. The sun has long sunken in the sky and it is low, now; hovering just at eye level outside of the window. There is a dusky glow filtering through the glass panes and she can see the specks of dust reflecting in the shafts of light through the curtains. She smiles at the sight for a long moment, blissful; a low, deep sigh quivers in her chest and she lets her crown of curls rest in the hollow of Zuko's shoulder.

She flinches as she hears the sound that must have woken her again- a loud rapping at the Fire Lord's door- and nearly falls off of the huge bed from shock. She recovers, curling back against Zuko's side and more than a little tempted to ignore the visitor; he is warm and his heartbeat is slow and steady and comforting. Bleary-eyed, the girl frowns and lets her head fall back against the wide expanse of Zuko's chest, tucking her body back into the curve of his side.

But they knock again; and this time, she can hear a thin, weary voice calling her name-

"Come on, Katara, open the door."

It is the voice of her brother, and Katara can feel the rushing of his blood.

 _she hates it, and La, she hates it; she can hear the singing of his veins and she can remember the wideness of his eyes when she froze his blood-_

Zuko stirs sleepily but does not wake and she knows that he would only greet the visitor with weary platitudes; she knows it hurts his pride that he had to ask Sokka to come help defend his country.

She knows the unending selfishness of the world and she knows that Zuko is not healed enough to handle it.

So, listening to her own blood simmering in her veins, the water-warrior slips from the mattress. She is bare-footed and her hair is hanging to her waist in tousled, damp strands; but there are still bones clicking in the braids against her skull and there are still bruises and scars lining her arms. She feels like herself, she thinks; and yet, she somehow feels _more._

The water-girl opens one of the doors to the Fire Lord's chambers and ushers her brother in, casting suspicious looks down each hall before shutting it again and re-fastening the bolts. Sokka is properly beet-red when she turns back to him, his mouth pursed as if he had just bitten into a lemon.

"What?" Folding her arms, Katara frowns at her brother; he clears his throat awkwardly before speaking.

"Those aren't _your_ robes." He manages thickly, gesturing off-handedly to the crimson silk draped about his sister's frame. Katara pauses for a moment before laughing and pointing to the pile of ruined armor off to the side.

"I took a bath. Zuko let me borrow some robes, mine are sort of scandalously torn to shreds." Chuckling dryly, the girl massages her temples for a moment and then starts to walk back to the Fire Lord's side. Her brother watches the way her eyes soften, watches the tense clench of her jaw loosen; he can see the slight tilt of her mouth as a smile begins. She curls into the chair Iroh had occupied earlier, hands gloved in water as she checks Zuko's vitals; Sokka watches with narrowed eyes as her hands skim the bare torso of the other teenager.

"Katara,"

She ignores her brother, instead listening to the steady rhythm of the Fire Lord's heart; she can feel the tissues mending under her hands, can feel the pulsing, rushing sound of his blood-

" _Katara."_ Sokka says, louder this time, and she glances up. He is frowning at her, brow creased. She blinks in surprise at his expression.

"What is it?"

Mouth turning down severely, her brother motions for her to come closer to him. He sighs a little when she is close enough; he rubs his hand across his face and through his hair, mussing the wolf-tail.

"You're doing the thing." Sokka blurts, under his breath; she catches the messy whisper and almost laughs.

"The _what?_ "

"The thing where you're all goo-goo eyes and ickiness. The Jet-Haru-bad-decision thing." Her brother, whispering fiercely, gesturing wildly and desperately now, looks slightly panicked. Katara drops her head into her hands and exhales before leveling a glare at him, magnanimously choosing to let his references to her exes go.

"Could you _try_ to be more articulate, Sokka?" Pained, the girl flicks him slightly with a couple droplets of water and he rolls his eyes.

"You _like_ him, Katara." He mutters lowly, and the sentence makes the water-girl flinch as if her brother has struck her.

"Shit, I knew it." He curses quietly under his breath, turning away from her and scrubbing both of his hands through his hair; he sighs a few times before collecting himself and facing her again. She is pink-faced and glossy-eyed, lower lip caught painfully between her teeth and her hands in fists by her sides. He suddenly understands how difficult this must be for her, and her brother reaches across the space between them to smooth the pads of his fingers across her shoulder as comfortingly as he can manage.

"Look, sis, you know I think Zuko is great. And you're great. And I'm sure you'll be great together. Whatever. You know. But did you _have_ to pick the Fire Lord, Katara? You know this won't be easy for you." He folds his hands behind his head as she quivers, bracing himself for the fury he knows usually comes when she is upset. Part of him readies to dash from the room- in case she decides to freeze him to something- but instead, he tenses and waits.

Her eyes cast downward, instead, fingers picking at the edges of Zuko's robe.

"It's not like I chose this to happen, Sokka. It just sort of... did," Katara's hands fall uselessly to her sides, and he tries not to look surprised at her deflated reaction.

"I guess I just forgot what it felt like to be around someone that fits me so well." She murmurs, tugging at the ends of her hair and casting her eyes to the side. Sokka's glance softens.

 _he could see the emptiness in her eyes, the pain; he could hear her ragged sobs and feel the wrath as she screamed to the vast, white expanse of wasteland._

"I know you've been alone for a long time, Katara, and you've only had me to rely on. But these past couple of weeks, you've really started to mend, I think. You're starting to look more like yourself again," He pauses, smiling a little at the trueness of his statement because she has color in her cheeks again and a light in her eye that hadn't been there since _before-_

"What Aang did was wrong, and I know you've been hurting over it." The Water Tribe warrior extends his hand to his sister, which she takes; she squeezes it affectionately for a moment before steeling her expression.

"He's here, you know." She quips, sucking her cheeks in; Sokka can see a flash of fury in her expression.

"Who, Aang? Really? No one's seen him in months."

"And Toph."

"La, Katara. Have you seen them?" Sokka watches as the hatred rises to the girl's cheeks, watches as she cracks each individual knuckle in her fingers and suddenly he can see the bright, painful viciousness in her eyes that he had been used to mere weeks ago.

"They came to visit earlier," The words were a hiss between clenched teeth and she shudders a little, shedding the pain in her eyes and taking a deep breath before speaking again.

"I wasn't... um... I wasn't very pleasant." She is stammering now, eyes flicking to her brothers as she awaits his disapproval for her actions. Instead, he snorts; amusement plain on his face. A strange sort of whisper-laugh bursts from her mouth, then, as she realizes how absurd this situation was turning out to be.

"I doubt anybody would be _pleasant_ with this kind of situation. I might have to hit him, for all the damage he caused." Sokka chuckled _, a little darkly_ , and she felt the tension in her shoulders drop; relieved, she let herself laugh along with him.

"You weren't pleasant to who, Katara? I hope not a stray courtier this time." Zuko's voice drifts sleepily from the bed, and she jumps, startled, before rolling her eyes skyward and closing her fist over her hammering heart. Sokka barely conceals the laughter growing in his mouth.

"She was a royal bitch to our favorite bald monk, I believe. Who, I think, totally deserved it." He says, moving around his sister to greet the Fire Lord; the dark-haired, golden eyed boy is attempting to rise, shame coloring his face, but Sokka gently pushes the other boy back against his pillows and claims the seat next to him, clasping his pale, calloused hand in greeting.

"Relax. You're all injured and whatever." There is no mistaking the softness in the older boy's tone; Zuko catches it, catches the kindness in the way his blue eyes flit to his sister's and catches the small nod that passes between them.

 _he knows._

Zuko flushes, the tips of his ears gone red.

"Aang's here?" He asks quietly, fingers knotting in the sheets; he is refusing to look at the water-girl and she is struggling to keep herself calm. She can hear his pulse accelerating with fear and she hates that the boy made of fire is so distrustful; _he burns so easily_ , she thinks, _he can be so fragile_.

 _but can't we all be fragile when our heart is in another's hands?_

"He came by earlier. I may have... told him off." She swallows loudly, embarrassed, suddenly, at her lack of control regarding the bald monk. Zuko's eyes slant towards her, narrowed a little in confusion.

"What did you say to him?"

"I _may_ have reprimanded him for going off on his soul-journey and leaving you here alone to deal with all of this _mess._ " She sighed, crossing her arms; Zuko's eyes are on her now, the golden irises dancing with the afternoon glow. Much to her relief, his lips twitch in a semblance of a smile.

 _she is protecting him and he knows it; suddenly he wishes that her brother were not sitting next to him and suddenly he wishes he had better use of his legs so that he could go to her and pull her to him-_

"It's super cute that you're all protective of our resident Hotman, Katara, but did you stop to think that baldy may have actually been here to help?" Sokka drawls, raising one eyebrow at his sister; his expression remaining amused. At Katara's stony expression, he scrambles for words.

"Uh... I mean it's pretty funny that you told him off, and all, but-"

"As much as I love that you told off the Avatar for my sake, I do believe we need him in our good graces." Zuko interrupts the Water Tribe warrior softly, his palms flattening on the crimson duvet in front of him; long, white fingers spread out in all directions.

 _he is so glad she does not want to leave him for the light footed Avatar-_

"Eventually he'll find his way back here. And in the meantime, I think it's probably best if you find yourself some robes, Katara. Not that red is _bad_ on you, but ya know, the implication-" Sokka lifts his shoulders in a shrug.

"-no offense, Fire Lord Hotman." He glances at Zuko, who also shrugs. His hair is falling into his eyes and Katara has to resist leaning across the great expanse of pillows to sweep the raven locks out of his face.

"None taken."

"So how do you suggest I make my way back to my rooms then, hmm?" Katara eyes the two teenagers skeptically, hands on her hips, and Zuko is trying really hard not to notice how her hips dip becomingly into her waist, and _damn_ , red really does bring out the brightness of her eyes-

"Yeah, good question. Zuko?"

Recovering, the Fire Lord shakes his head somewhat before focusing and looking back at Sokka to try and knock himself out of staring at his sister.

"There's a tunnel system that moves from my room to several of the bedrooms through his hall. It won't go all the way to your quarters, Sokka, but it should extend to Katara's. The door is behind that tapestry." He gestures vaguely, jointly hating that Katara has to leave and also willing her to so that he isn't struggling to keep his eyes off of her.

"Alright. I'll go catch a nap. Come get me if anything happens, okay? And if nothing happens, wake me up for dinner." She pauses, then, catching her lower lip between her teeth and reaching for Zuko's hand.

"Don't kill each other." She squints at her brother meaningfully, who holds up his palms in innocence.

As soon as the water-girl drifts from the room and the door to the tunnels shuts heavily behind her, Zuko begins to struggle to push himself up in bed again. Sokka moves towards him, but the Fire Lord lifts his hand- _no, I can do this myself_ \- and he manages to throw his legs over the side of the bed and stand. Helping Katara with her armor earlier drained him, and his legs are shaking just the slightest; but he ignores the tired buzzing in his head and his limbs and slants a look at her brother.

"You know Katara would have a fit if she saw you standing up right now, man." Sokka comments wryly, and Zuko shrugs, leaning a little against his bedpost.

"She probably would, but I'm not about to have a conversation with a man I respect while I'm in bed," The Fire Lord smiles dimly before focusing, features sharpening and eyes darkening to seriousness. Sokka has to mask the surprise on his face at the compliment.

"My uncle tells me that they believe the attacks are stemming from a nobleman who is still loyal to my father's cause. He has some of my council members in his pockets. Uncle's been conducting an investigation of my staff over the past two days, and so far, it looks like roughly half of my guards are disloyal. The man that snuck into my rooms the other night was actually one of them." He rubs his face thoughtfully at the words, and Sokka sighs.

"As the plan-man, I believe that you should just fire all of their dumb noble butts and get yourself an actual council. With, you know, members like myself. I would say I'm pretty great with counseling. And plans. And stuff." Sokka says lightly, and Zuko frowns, the corners of his mouth turning down slightly as he hums thoughtfully under his breath.

"Well, I was considering asking you to be the liaison between our two Nations, Sokka. An ambassador, of sorts, considering you're next in line for Chief."

"Me? Wouldn't Katara be a better choice for that?" He looks mildly affronted at the possibility, and Zuko reminds himself that Sokka is juggling not only the lives of his future-people, but the lives of his sister, his girlfriend ( _who lives a lifetime away from his arms_ ) and his friends.

"That's another thing I wanted to mention to you," Zuko says quietly, sucking in a low, deep breath through his teeth. Sokka has raised both of his eyebrows at the mention of his sister, and he leans forward, intrigued.

Zuko tries to ignore how one tanned hand rests pointedly on his boomerang, swallowing with obvious discomfort before speaking.

"I'm in love with your sister, Sokka. There's no point in masking it, not any more, especially when I've had so many near-death experiences lately to reflect on." The Fire Lord rushes through the sentences, blurting the words out as quickly as he can manage; he is leaning against the bedpost for strength, now, and he feels like he may be sick.

There is a painful, awkward silence that seems to stretch on for far too long before either of them make any sort of movement.

And then Sokka laughs.

Loudly.

Bent double, wheezing, palms flat on his knees, the water tribe warrior is full-on _guffawing_ at the Fire Lord.

Shocked, Zuko flushes, mouth agape like a fish; but Sokka holds up his hand and tries to gain control of the snorts and chuckles escaping him. Attempting to remain looking _slightly_ regal, Zuko straightens his spine; he is mildly offended.

 _is he not worthy of her? is he not enough?_

"Look, dude, I've always known you had a thing for my sister." Wiping at a tear escaping his eye, Sokka rubs at his nose and sighs the last of his laughter out in between him and the other teenage boy.

"You're kidding me," Zuko deadpans. "Did anyone else notice..?"

"Like Aang? Dude, who knows. When he left Katara, he certainly wasn't concerned about who else would wife her up," Sokka crosses his arms across his chest, smirking wryly; he is sure that Toph could tell, but the Fire Lord doesn't need to know that.

"It's all good, man. I just didn't know until today that she had a thing for you, too. Which is good. I think. But you gotta know that she's had a rough time this past year-"

"I know, and I'm willing to do what it takes to help her heal," Zuko interrupts the water-warrior, his eyes slanting with a sudden sternness. Sokka nods slowly.

"I know you're not Hakoda, but I figured that I would send word to him that I... I would like to ask for Katara's hand. I know it's really soon- we haven't even really gotten a chance to spend time together- but I just _know_." Impassioned, the Fire Lord stands a little straighter, and Sokka can see for the first time in their friendship that Zuko is taller than he is. There's a stubborn slant to his jaw that the Water Tribe warrior remembers from his days of chasing them around the globe, and he almost smiles.

There is also a hint of the awkward teen still peeking out from beneath the surface; Sokka can see that the tips of Zuko's ears are red. His hands are fumbling awkwardly, uselessly; the Fire Lord pockets them after a few moments.

 _This_ makes Sokka beam with a grin, and he nods in acknowledgement.

"You're a good man, Zuko. I was proud to fight beside you in the great war, and I know you'll take care of her. Hell, the past six weeks she's looked better here than she ever did down in the South Pole. You've made her smile again." He leans forward and claps the other boy on the shoulder, a motion that nearly knocks the weakened Fire Lord to the floor. Zuko's knees feel weak with relief at the positive reaction from the water tribe boy.

"But as a brotherly disclaimer, which, you know, I have to put out there- you ever hurt her, and I swear to the Spirits that I'll knock the fire right out of you. She's been through hell." He cautions, eyes suddenly serious; they are twin, blue slits, and in them, Zuko can see the pain of a year spent with a sister who could barely get herself up in the morning. He sees the chill of the South and the pain of watching Katara wither away in the frozen wasteland; he can nearly feel the ache of her brother's heart.

"Of course, Sokka." Zuko says quietly, massaging his palms together and leaning back against the bed frame. He tilts his skull back against the dark mahogany, and suddenly Sokka can see the tiredness bruising his eyes; the heavy way his chest rises and falls with breath, as if he'd expended his energy for the day.

"I do have to say that I'm not sure now is _quite_ the time, buddy. I mean, you've been almost murdered a dozen times. Who's to say you'll survive until the wedding?" Sokka grins at the other boy cheekily.

The Fire Lord sighs, raking his hands through his hair. He allows himself a brief twitch of the lips to acknowledge Sokka's joke before his shoulders curve with sudden weariness.

"Right now isn't a great time for any of this, obviously. She's in danger just for associating herself with me. Luckily, she's more than capable of defending herself; but all the same, I've sent for the Kyoshi Warriors to come for a few months. I trust them implicitly to guard both myself, Katara, and yourself while you're still here. I'm sure you'll be happy to see Suki, at any rate." Smiling lopsidedly, the Fire Lord watches as Sokka's face explodes in red patches.

"...Suki is coming here?"

"They'll be here within the week. I'm sure they'll be happy to look after you while my Uncle and I investigate who is to blame for all of these attacks." Zuko regards Sokka with a knowing glance, and the Water Tribe warrior claps his hands together in eagerness before releasing a whoop of excitement.

All the while, Katara stands just behind the door to the secret passageway; face flushed bright red at the sound of Zuko's admission of feelings. She can feel her heart thundering in her chest and she can feel the pulsing of Zuko's blood as intimately as if he were standing beside her.

 _could she dare to hope that she had some chance at happiness? did she deserve it, after all she had done?_

She crumples against the stone wall, fist pressed to her mouth; tears bubbling at the corners of her eyes. She is all at once horrified and elated, her stomach churning with the remembrance of how it felt to be kissed by the Fire Lord; how she felt her soul turn to ash underneath his calloused hands.

She remembers how her heart had felt full of ice when she had arrived, remembers the stiffness of her embrace and the chill of her every glance. She cannot believe in just a few precious weeks she has begun to thaw; _can she truly allow herself this?_

* * *

 **happy october, all! fall is my favorite season.**

 **please let me know how you liked this chapter! I always love hearing from you guys.**

 **xo,**

 **nightfall26**


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